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    Questioning Quain
    Questioning Quain
    Questioning Quain
    Ebook182 pages3 hours

    Questioning Quain

    By Amber Kell

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    About this ebook

    In a the race to warn the snow cougars, Peter Woods and Quain Ilves use Peter’s newly renovated car to reach the mountain lions before the wizards get there first. Along the way, Quain learns all about the warmhearted man he’s been bound to and the increasing importance of pack and family.

    Peter Woods, mechanic and mate to seer Quain Ilves, wouldn’t change a single hair on his beloved. However, certain situations make it perilous for Quain to keep up his visions, and Peter worries over his mate’s sanity in these tumultuous times.

    The clock is ticking while they compete with the magic wielders to save as many shifters as possible. Will they succeed, or will the wizards get their hands on other shifters to experiment with?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAmber Kell
    Release dateNov 22, 2018
    ISBN9780463447888
    Questioning Quain
    Author

    Amber Kell

    Amber Kell is a dreamer who has been writing stories in her head for as long as she could remember.She lives in Seattle with her husband, two sons, three cats and one very stupid dog. To learn more about her current books or works in progress, check out her blog at http://amberkell.wordpress.com.Her fans can also reach her at amberkellwrites@gmail.com.

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      Book preview

      Questioning Quain - Amber Kell

      Chapter 1

      Amaniacal smile enhanced the eeriness of the man clutching a knife in his right hand. Blood crusted the blade. Quain’s blood. Let’s see what it takes to make you scream.

      Quain Ilves jerked awake, a shout strangling his throat. Sweat beaded his forehead and trickled down his spine in a sticky anemic river. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to combat the unnatural chill skating across his body.

      I’m not there anymore. I’m not there anymore. He chanted in his head until the words created an impenetrable ward against his terrifying dreams.

      If only his nightmares weren’t regurgitated memories, they would be easier to battle. Recently, they had grown bolder, making his waking and vision worlds bleed together until he jumped at looming shadows and his lover’s touch. Without quality sleep, he had become like a narcoleptic, falling unconscious throughout the day with a little warning. It didn’t help that car rides made him drowsy. For most of the road trip, this unexpected bonding time with Peter, Quain had faded in and out of consciousness.

      Are you all right?

      He jerked out of his half daze to meet Peter’s worried stare. The concern and care in Peter Woods’ blue-green eyes never failed to loosen the tight knot in Quain’s chest. Past romantic interludes had been cold, rushed one-offs with barely a name exchanged between them. This new constant attention from a dedicated lover took some getting used to. A task he embraced with both glee and puzzlement.

      He adored his sweet, kind mate—who needed to look where the fuck he was driving.

      Pay attention to the road! Quain shouted as they whipped down the highway at seventy miles per hour. While he appreciated the concern, he preferred living.

      Sorry. Peter snapped his head back around and wrapped his long, beautiful fingers tighter around the wheel.

      Quain sighed when memories of the amazing things Peter did with those fingers drifted through his semi-awake mind. He rubbed at his now burning cheeks. "No, I’m sorry. I had a bad dream. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I haven’t been sleeping well lately," he confessed. Each time he closed his eyes he relived his days of torture. Eventually, the memories would fade, but in the short term, his hands trembled and he couldn’t manage more than a few hours of rest at a time. Although his physical wounds had healed, emotional damage thrived in his subconscious mind. His mental trauma had left dragon-claw-worthy scars across his psyche.

      Can I do anything to help? Peter’s rich, calming voice broke through Quain’s tortured thoughts.

      No. I-I’ll be fine. Eventually. If he didn’t go mad first. He rubbed at the uneven weave of denim covering his right knee, idly planning a shopping trip once they were done saving the mountain lions. He snatched a full water bottle from the drink holder, then chugged half as if he could drown the images in his head while soothing his burning throat. The cold liquid tugged him the rest of the way into wakefulness. An uneasy silence fell between them until Quain finally broke the quiet bubble with more than a little trepidation.

      His stomach churned as he spoke the words he never thought he’d say. I’m going to call that therapist Anthony recommended when we get back home. I thought I could handle this, but I can’t.

      It hurt to admit to his own personal failure. He spent most of his life controlling his emotions, and the jumble of pain and horror dancing around his brain while he slept was beyond his usual amazing coping abilities. Shame burned his cheeks. Even with his family’s help over the years, Quain had always considered himself a quiet island in the storm of his loud family. An island that could handle the terrors and visions smashing across its shores. Now his fragile ecosystem had been shattered, and he couldn’t find his previous emotional steadiness. Maybe this doctor could help him fix this new gaping hole in his psyche.

      Good. I’m glad you’re willing to get help, but if you just need to talk, you can always talk to me. Peter didn’t ask any probing questions or interrogate Quain further about his problems. Instead, he kept his focus on the road and his curiosity to himself.

      Quain had never loved Peter more. He wiggled around until he settled his seat belt in a more satisfactory spot before blurting out the question he feared to hear an honest answer to. Do you think I’m weak? He winced at the broken quiver in his voice.

      Why would I think that? Peter’s honest confusion convinced Quain more than any sweet words Peter could’ve uttered.

      Turning his attention to the empty road in front of him, he confessed his inner shame. I can’t get over my captivity.

      Peter pulled the car to the side of the road, then engaged the parking brake.

      Why are we stopping? Quain curled his right hand around the panic bar while his skittering gaze calculated the odds of a quick escape from both this conversation and the car. Why had he started blabbing out his weaknesses? No one wanted a damaged mate. He should have kept up the illusion that he was a strong and capable life partner. Was this where Peter finally had enough and decided to unload his useless mate?

      Because someone doesn’t like it when I take my eyes from the road and I think this is more important than driving. Peter didn’t crack a grin, but his eyes danced with tender amusement.

      Quain almost cracked a smile.

      Peter unbuckled his seat belt before carefully unwrapping Quain’s clenched fingers from around the panic bar. He cupped both of Quain’s hands between his larger callused ones. Listen to me, my beautiful mate. There is nothing wrong with you. You are a wonderful, sweet man who has had some very bad things happen to you. It wasn’t your fault you were kidnapped, and if you think it would be better to turn around and go back home, say the word and I will do that. Your needs come far above some random group of shifters, and if you’d rather go back and deal with your shit, then that is what we will do.

      What about our assignment? The pack was everything to a wolf shifter. Would Peter really go against them to make Quain happy?

      Peter’s sexy mouth curled up into a small smile. You are my mate. Nothing is as important to me. Silver understands that, and no Alpha worth his title would countermand one of his pack dropping everything for his mate. Now should we turn around or go forward?

      A comforting glow grew in Quain’s chest. Never before had anyone put him first. Sure, his parents had in the way of adults protecting their offspring, but no one ever had in the romantic sense.

      He chose his words with care before pushing them through his emotionally roughened throat. Thank you for that. I worry you’ll leave me once you learn what a mess I am, but maybe that is more my history of bad relationships than reality. He blinked back the tears blurring his vision.

      Peter squeezed Quain’s fingers, then placed a kiss on his forehead. Everyone processes trauma differently. From what you’ve told me, you’re used to facing visions where the focus is on someone else. This time, you can’t really distance yourself from the actions because you know they are true and really happened. You went through a terrible ordeal. There is nothing wrong with seeking help with the memories. You’re the strongest person I know; never doubt that. Just let me be there for you. I can always provide a shoulder to cry on or a willing ear to listen. I might not know how to get over trauma like you’ve experienced, but I can offer comfort while you work things through.

      Quain threw himself into Peter’s arms, sobbing at the tight hug he received. Who knew the faint smell of grease could be as comforting as a bowl of chicken soup?

      I have the best mate, he whispered.

      A low rumble vibrated Peter’s chest in a reassuring manner. Peter’s wolf trying to send soothing vibes to his mate. I could argue about that, but we should probably get back on the road before the cops come by to ask why I’m illegally parked.

      A gurgling laugh burst from his chest as he moved out of Peter’s comforting arms. Swiping his palms across his cheeks, he offered Peter a watery smile. Thanks.

      Any time, and I do mean that.

      I know you do. And he did. Peter’s honesty shone out of him. As much as Peter said he regretted his mutant past, he had kept the kernel of who he was throughout that horror and came out of it as the wonderful individual Quain happily called his mate.

      Now enough mush. Are we going forward or turning back?

      Quain took a deep, meditative breath before letting it out again. Forward.

      Are you sure?

      Quain nodded. Positive. He could do this. I do appreciate your offer, though.

      Turning back now might get him to the therapist sooner, but it could negatively affect Peter’s standing in the pack. Silver and Anthony would probably say all the proper things about Quain’s mental health being more important than any mission and even mean it. That didn’t necessarily reflect the attitude of the rest of the pack. From what Peter told him about his past, Anthony had saved his life and never asked for anything except for information about the scientist who had been conducting the mutations. The Moon Pack had more than earned Peter’s loyalty and Quain didn’t want to become a liability to his mate.

      Quain’s trauma needed to be buried beside the bodies of his torturers. He hadn’t bothered to ask Anthony if anyone had survived his kidnappers’ slaughter. His family wouldn’t have left loose ends or accidental evidence. He didn’t approve of murder, but he couldn’t deny the death of his captors helped his anxiety. Knowing that most of the people who kidnapped him were dead kept away a small fraction of the night terrors. It was the wizards who hadn’t been at the facility who were the problem now. Other cells were kidnapping shifters for experimentation and if they didn’t at least alert their future victims to their danger, they were no better than the wizards.

      After checking for traffic, Peter pulled back onto the road. So far on this trip, they hadn’t run into any serious congestion and Quain hoped it remained that way. He didn’t really enjoy car trips. Oh, he didn’t get car sick. He just found them boring. Riding with his mate had changed his view a little, but didn’t completely take away the drowsiness car travel gave him. He had spent the first part of the trip drifting between sleeping and talking about their likes and dislikes. So far, he had learned Peter liked green, Quain, fast cars, Quain, and even though he disliked cats, he’d make an exception for Quain.

      If you change your mind at any time, even if it is right before we reach the mountain lions, I will turn around. I want you to be happy.

      I am. I just need time to heal. Quain rubbed a hand across the seat’s shiny red leather. Peter had worked hard over the past two weeks to ready his car for their road trip. Luckily, Peter knew a guy who painted cars and could do a rush job. I’m glad we were able to take your car.

      Me too. Peter gave the dashboard an affectionate pat.

      Quain leaned against the headrest. The car’s vibration sent him into a half-sleep trance. In a dreamlike state, the scenery flashed by in an unending flow of scraggly brush, old houses, and dilapidated barns. How much family history had been lost in those abandoned buildings? He could proudly trace his own heritage back five hundred years and mark where each generation birthed a seer. When he didn’t suffer from his sight, he enjoyed history. Maybe because his seer abilities focused on the future, he appreciated the solidity of things that had already happened. He floated in that state with only the car radio breaking the silence.

      Doing okay? Peter’s deep voice pulled Quain’s attention from his unfocused pondering. A glance at the dashboard revealed an hour had already passed.

      Mmhm, I was wondering about the history of those barns. Who did they belong to? Why were they allowed to fall to ruin? I mean they’re still part of a farm and I don’t see a new barn, so what’s the story? Couldn’t they be salvaged?

      Peter made a humming thoughtful noise. I’ve never thought about it. A lot of farms go out of business. They could’ve been sold and the new owner had no use for a barn. If they’re smart, they’ll sell the wood to one of those re-use companies. They will pay good money for reclaimed lumber.

      Quain sighed. I guess so, but it seems like such a waste of a building.

      Peter shrugged. Some things just aren’t meant to last. Are you missing your family?

      Was he? "Not really. We’ve only been gone a few hours. I’ve certainly been separated

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